I Am Cousland
by Maireban
Summary: Lady Cousland, managing the Grey Warden interest in Amaranthine, is filling her spare time writing a history of her early years. She wasn't quite the sheltered princess everyone seems to think.


I remember colours. Blue, light, like the summer sky. And green, like emeralds. All things considered, it's hardly surprising that my first memory would be of my family's emblem. I remember voices, too. Mother cooing and Father laughing. Fergus used to ask me if I remembered him when I was a child. I did, of course. Or, rather, I remember his finger. He used to love poking my nose.

I was far too young then for any real memories. Nothing that made any sense. Just those halcyon days of childhood that I once thought everyone had in common. Sunshine, and lots of it, and the sounds and smell of the sea, and the bells from the shipping in the harbour, the clash of knights' blades as they sparred, something that I think might've been me pulling a thread out of mother's new dress.

My name is Iseult Cousland. I am a Grey Warden. I am writing this (delightful!) memoir on the advice of Loghain Mac Tir, from whom I have it that what will make it into the history books will only vaguely resemble the truth. If truth makes an appearance at all. They'll say I never knew Maric, or Cailan, that I had never left Highever. What could be more compelling than the sheltered daughter of one of Ferelden's great nobles, rising from the ashes of her shattered family to save the country from a Blight? Besides a commoner rising from the ashes of his father's shattered outlawry to oust the Orlesians and restore our rightful king, that is.

On the advice of Wynne, I started at the very beginning. I do hope the historians remember to include Fergus poking my nose in the history books. Or perhaps I should ask Leliana to immortalize it in a song? But I digress…

My father was Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever. My mother Eleanor Cousland, Teyrna of Highever. That is common knowledge. What most people do not know is that they met during Queen Moira's rebellion, mother waving her sword about and sparking the rebels to acts of chivalry with the flash of her green eyes. Father being one of the rebels, of course.

I was told, though I don't know how much faith I put in the story, that father was gravely wounded, lying beside the body of his own father, when my mother came riding up on a horse, her long hair floating in the air, bathed in sunlight, with a choir of heavenly voices announcing her arrival. She looked down upon the noble, chivalrous knight and loved him. So she got off her horse, gave him the Kiss, he was healed of all injuries, they married, inherited a great estate, had two glorious children, were loved by the people and admired by their vassals, and were later betrayed and murdered in their own larder. Historians, take what you like from that. I personally think it sounds rather more like an overdone Orlesian excuse for a stirring romance.

True or not, the result of the above was that I was one of the glorious children. The more glorious, if I do say so myself. Fergus had five years on me. I take it I came as something of a surprise. Mother was delighted, Father laughed with glee, and Fergus wept at the unfairness of it all. How terribly Fergus. Iseult Cousland, with her father's eyes, her mother's scathing tongue, and a great lot of blonde hair that nobody can quite place.

I am told that I was a pretty babe. I know that all mothers say that of their children, but I happen to believe mine. Writers of history books take note, all accompanying images of the Hero of Ferelden are to be pretty. Yes. I do not actually recall, but have been told, that when I was three months old I was given godparents. Hardly surprising, as most noble children have them. What was unusual, I suppose, was that my godparents were King Maric and Queen Rowan.

As I say, I do not recall that at all. Besides mother's ruined dress, which I simply was not _allowed_ to forget, I was something like five before I have any actual memories. And much as I would love to explain that in detail _right now_, I hear that Darkspawn are running amuck in my cellar. Yes, Arl Howe, **my** cellar. Ha.

A/N This is for those of you that don't like the idea of a Cousland that seems never to have left the castle before Duncan. Something just seemed so /wrong/ about the only daughter of a family as important as the Couslands having never even met the powers that be. So here's Lady Cousland telling her story in her own words, complete with those acquaintances she never had...if we're to believe the history books. ;)

Please, please, _please_ let me know what you think/if I should continue. Never written fanfic before!

Oh, and as to our intrepid heroine's name...yes, I know it's a version of the much hated Isolde's. Trouble was, I picked it for my first Cousland before I even knew there was a psychotic Orlesian running around by the Orlesian/French version of the name. So.


End file.
